


A Silver Splash of Impossibility

by BoundlessEffection



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alive Lily and James, Alive Sirius, Alive remus, Alternate Timeline, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Voldemort, PTSD, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoundlessEffection/pseuds/BoundlessEffection
Summary: Upon a mysterious meeting with a stranger in the Godric’s Hollow graveyard, a war-torn Harry finds himself transported to a world where Voldemort never rose to power and everyone he lost is still alive, except for himself. How is Harry supposed to look for a way back when this world offers him everything he hoped for as a child? And why does Draco Malfoy seem like he knows more of Harry's world than he's letting on?





	A Silver Splash of Impossibility

The woosh of a flame from the fireplace in the corner of Harry’s office meant the peaceful daydreaming he had been enjoying before he started on his next pile of paperwork was to be cut short, as Ron emerged with a look of mirth on his face and a thick file in hand. 

Harry found over the years that if he didn’t sit back and give himself time to let his mind wander a bit, eventually it would break free and travel down roads he’d rather not venture, bringing back unwelcome images at the most unfortunate times. He much preferred periodic controlled breaks from concentration rather than occasional breaks from reality.

“I think we’ve finally got him pinned down, mate. About bloody time too.” Ron sighed and tossed the file in front of Harry, plonking himself in the seat on the other side of the desk, seeming to sink into it with an exhale. Harry looked down and read the name on the file, his head shooting up.

“You did it? You found something?” Harry quickly flipped open the folder and scanned the pages.

There it was. Listed under the substances obtained during the raid was the nail in the coffin they had been looking for to seal the fate of Arlo Aberdeen. 

Aberdeen was suspected of supplying unicorn blood to various buyers on the black market, but without large quantities being found in his possession, Aberdeen could easily plead that he was merely a buyer and not a procurer, lessening his Azkaban sentence from life to a measly few years. However, the five hundred vials of the sacred substance found in the cellar of his holiday home were more than even the Malfoy family could afford to purchase.

Grinning, Harry looked up. Ron grinned in reply and stood up, collecting the folder from Harry’s hands and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well done Harry. No-one knows as well as I do all the blood, sweat, and tears you’ve put into this case.” 

_Not to mention time_ , Harry added in his head, remembering the arguments Harry’s overtime for this case had created between him and Ginny, finally culminating in the dissolution of their relationship entirely just last month. 

“Thanks, Ron. But you know I can’t take all the credit; I wouldn’t be anywhere without the rest of the team.” Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, a soft smile still in place.

“Hows about we go and celebrate tonight, eh? I’m sure we can rustle up a few people to meet us at the Leaky,” Ron offered, a hint of cautiousness creeping into his tone. 

Harry tensed at the thought of a rowdy drinking crowd and quickly began to rustle with the papers on his desk, sparing Ron only a quick glance before muttering, “Er, no, I think I’ll pass on that. I have plenty of paperwork I need to finish by tomorrow morning, and at the look of things I’ll be here late getting it done.” 

The fear could be heard clearly in his tone, and the slight shake of his hands had the papers in them making more noise than usual.

Ron sighed and dropped his shoulders. “Harry…” He trailed off, seeming to be trying to find the right words to say. 

“Hermione’s worried. About you. And your lack of… progress.” Harry looked up and saw that it wasn’t just Hermione that was worried.

Any remaining joy from the closing of a difficult case had evaporated, and in its place stood tension between the two best friends.

“You aren’t moving forward. You don’t talk about it, you don’t do anything besides work. You avoid crowds and don’t socialise; the only time you do see other people is either at The Burrow or at mine and Hermione's place. It’s not healthy.” He sat back down in a slump, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Harry stared mutely at him, knowing there was nothing he could say in his defense.

“Are you happy?”

The question startled Harry, but what was more startling was that his mind responded immediately with a resounding _no_.

Ron took his silence as the answer Harry had heard in his head and stared at Harry expectantly.

“You know it can’t go on like this forever. I know you think it was work that got in the way of your relationship with Ginny, but she told Hermione that she could have handled that if you were open with her a bit more. Emotionally unavailable, she said.”

Harry remained silent, no longer able to hold Ron’s gaze.

“Here,” Ron held out his hand towards Harry, a small piece of paper between his fingers. “It’s the floo of a mind healer Hermione went to straight after the war. I think you should have a chat with her, see if she can help you.”

Harry hesitantly took the paper, and read the name scribbled on it: _Gloria Clearwater - Mind Healer_.

Looking up at Ron again, Harry cleared his throat, “Thanks… I’ll think about it.”

“All we want is for you to try Harry. We thought that if we gave you the time you could work things out for yourself, but it's been five years and nothing. You’re making the right decision Harry.” 

Ron stood once again and gave Harry a sad smile. “Coming to The Burrow for Sunday lunch?”

Clearly an attempt to change the subject, Harry relaxed as they fell into easy conversation about Sunday and how the rest of the Weasleys were. 

By the time Ron left, it was already 5 pm, and Harry had all but given up on continuing his paperwork. Instead, he left it to be done over the weekend and grabbed his coat. Thinking over what Ron had said, Harry once again looked at the scrap of paper with the mind healers name on it.

He **was** sick of it. Sick of the anxiety that had him breaking into a sweat at the idea of crowds and constantly looking over his shoulder when he was in public. Sick of the nightmares that plagued him every night making him relive his worst hours. Sick of the fear that takes over him when anyone new attempts to get too close. It was the reason he rarely went out on field missions, much preferring staying at the office and working in analytics and intelligence.

It was a surprise to everyone in the Auror department when trainee Auror Harry Potter had requested working within the office. Everyone expected the Chosen One to be eager to get out into the field in which he was the most experienced, but to Harry, the thought voluntarily putting himself in the path of more violence and conflict was unfathomable. He still wanted to be a force for justice, to take down dark wizards who seek to hurt people, but he had lost his flair for such direct confrontation. Perhaps he had never had it, and it was merely circumstances that had placed him in such perilous situations.

Pocketing the piece of paper, Harry resolved to make an appointment in the next few days. Ron was right: enough was enough.

****

Upon Harry’s first meeting with Gloria Clearwater, he discovered two things about her: she was a second cousin to Percy’s ex-girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater; and that she was a muggle trained psychiatrist that specialized in treating post-traumatic stress disorder. This reassured Harry greatly, as his previous visits to the Janus Thickey Ward had not filled him with confidence in the ability of magical mind healers to actually heal the mind, and was aware of the advances muggles had made in treating the mind in recent years.

Although their initial meeting had caused a typical reaction in Harry, they soon got to talking about Harry’s life since the end of the war, and Gloria was confident in diagnosing Harry with PTSD.

Over the next few months they began to delve into Harry’s greatly tumultuous life, forcing Harry to confront and realize many things about himself he had never chosen to see before; this, of course, was how he came to realize that he might not be as straight as he always thought. 

Harry realized that the hateful words of the Dursleys had more of an effect on him than he thought, and their liberal use of words such as “faggot” and “poofter” had caused him to suppress his bisexuality like he had with many memories of the war.

Though slow and gradual, Harry’s friends did see changes in his life. He would occasionally accept Ron’s request to go to the Leaky, and although tense, would genuinely enjoy himself at the bar. He even went on a few dates, with both men and women, but none of which resulted in anything more than a kiss on the doorstep.

Harry still felt as if he was being swallowed up when he faced crowds, but he no longer retreated within himself or had what Dr. Clearwater called “panic attacks” when unexpectedly faced with one. He simply removed himself from the situation as quickly as possible.

He felt more alive now than he had in years.

He felt hopeful.

But despite this, there was still a gaping hole within Harry, one that refused to be filled no matter how many sessions he spent with Dr. Clearwater exhuming the many demons that had attached themselves to him along the way.

When Harry found himself at his parents' graves mid-December when he was 23 years old, he sat and mourned not only for them but for everyone else he had lost along the way. It was at times like this that the hole in his chest would open itself fully and claw at his ribs, begging to take over completely.

“Expecto Patronum,” he murmured softly, forcing himself to feel the happiness required to summon the astral beast.

As the stag burst from the tip of his wand, he sat on the ground in front of the graves, the snow crisply crunching beneath him. He watched the majestic animal prance around the graves, slow to a walk and begin to sniff at the ground in front of them, looking almost as if it had begun to graze.

Tears began to prickle at his eyes as he watched.

“Hi Mum, hi Dad.” Harry paused for a moment, not sure how to continue. “I’ve been having some trouble lately. Have been for a while actually.” He broke off again and wiped his eyes on his sleeves.

Harry thought again of his life, and all those he had lost, and not for the first time he thought spitefully of not just the people, but the entire childhood that was stolen from him. 

_If only the Ministry had seen the signs of Voldemort’s first rise to power and stopped it in its tracks_ , Harry thought bitterly.

“I could have had a proper fucking childhood, with proper fucking parents, and a proper fucking brain!” Not caring he was in a graveyard, Harry’s voice raised in volume as he got madder. 

“Instead all I have is battle scars.” 

The Patronus has looked up at the outburst, and faded out of existence, leaving Harry all alone once again.

Or so he thought.

“No need to be snippy, lad, the dead can’t hear ya moodiness,” a scratchy voice behind him chided as if scolding a stroppy teenager.

Startled, Harry drew his wand in a flash, and was off the ground and facing the approaching figure within half a second. He may not go out into the field often, but it was hard to forget the reflexes war instills in people.

“Now there’s no need for that, boy-o, I ain’t here to bring you any harm. I doubt I could even if I did try.” 

Now facing the man, Harry could see that he appeared to be in his fifties or sixties, with shaggy hair Harry assumed used to be black but was more salt than pepper these days. HIs skin was sagging and soft, and the bags under his eyes made him seem older than he probably was. He had thin lips that were pressed together firmly and tilted up in one corner, giving him a look as if he was constantly trying to contain a giggle. Harry watched the man casually stride towards him, and frowned as he conjured a chair next to where Harry had previously been sitting.

“Hope ya don’t mind, but me knees ain’t what they used to be, and sitting in the snow can get mighty uncomfortable when it melts below ya.” Still smirking, he sat down and stared expectantly at Harry, who still had his wand raised.

“Well sit down,” he ordered gruffly.

Ignoring the command, Harry maintained his wand position. 

“Why are you here?” The anger from before was still present in Harry’s tone, but that was more for the stranger’s benefit than any actual anger Harry felt; he was mostly just wary of the man now.

“Heard ya yelling now didn’t I? Thought I’d pop over and see what all the fuss was about.” Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one with the tip of his wand.

Finally lowering his wand, but keeping a firm grip on it, Harry thought of the man’s answer. There was no way he could be telling the truth; he had appeared mere seconds after Harry’s outburst, and the graveyard had been empty before Harry had cast the Patronus. But for the sake of finding out what he wanted, Harry decided to go along with it.

“I’m visiting my parents,” he finally responded, not willing to give up any more.

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” The smirk finally fell from the man’s face, as he looked and read the names of the gravestones. 

Harry kept his eye on the man but was beginning to believe he was not going to attack him. The man had been right when he said that even if he did attack, there was no chance of him actually harming Harry.

Looking up at Harry again, the man maintained his somber face. 

“Did you mean it?” He asked suddenly, confusing Harry.

“Mean what?”

“When you wished Voldemort had never risen to power.” 

Shock radiated through Harry, and his suspicions of the man were back with a vengeance. Not only had he used ‘Voldemort’ instead of ‘You-Know-Who’, which many witches and wizards still refused to utter, he also referred to something Harry certainly hadn’t said aloud. Harry didn’t respond, but he raised his wand again.

“Now calm yourself, lad. I just mean would ya really give up all ya had, then and now, to live in a world where no one had feared Voldemort?” Blowing smoke in Harry’s direction, the man sat back and seemed to wait for Harry’s answer.

Forgetting where he was or that he neither knew this man nor how the man had known what Harry had been thinking, Harry replied with a crisp, “Yes.”

“Are ya sure ya don’t want to think it over a bit more?” The smirk was back on the man’s face.

 _No_.

“Wonderful.” 

The man’s smirk had transformed into a fully fledged grin, displaying two rows of slightly yellow, but straight, teeth. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silver orb, no bigger than a marble, and tossed it to Harry. Without thinking, Harry caught the object, and immediately regretted it. Upon contact with his skin, the orb began to glow, and even though Harry had dropped it almost as soon as he’d got it, he could already feel the effects.

Harry took a step back, startled once again, and noticed that he had begun to feel a little dizzy. The familiar feeling of panic began to take over Harry’s body, as a fog began to creep over his mind. Taking a stumbling step forward, Harry found himself on his knees in front of the man, still looking into his sunken eyes. 

It was the last thing he saw before he collapsed completely in the snow, blackness filling his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments, so please let me know what you thought of the first chapter!  
> Constructive criticism is not only welcomed but encouraged :)


End file.
